


Arsonist's Lullaby

by deadvinesandfanfics



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arson, Bad Parenting, Gen, Unhealthy Coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 18:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadvinesandfanfics/pseuds/deadvinesandfanfics
Summary: Tommy's parents had left for a business meeting, supposed to be back two days ago.So what else is he supposed to do but set the garden on fire and run?





	Arsonist's Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> hehe hello again!!  
> i just wanted to get through anger over exams and what better way to cope than fantasizing about burning your neglectful parent's house down??
> 
> coping, babeyyyyyy

When Tommy was a child, his family left him. Not permanently, just on outings to shops and work, and regular things. Left in an empty home-isolated in the bush, for hours on end-he was becoming sick of it. His parents worked hard long hours, and his older brothers had left for university. So left alone, he began to crave attention.

It would start out small.

At first, it was just a broken plate left on the floor, or misplacing belongings. They would come to him, question, and Tommy _reveled_ in it. But over time, the questions became angry, and then they stopped. He didn’t like that they stopped. So it got bigger.

He would pull out his old slingshot that he won from a fair, years ago (his parents had been with him then, before the promotion, before they moved to the middle of nowhere), and he began to fire rocks at the birds in the nearby trees. One fell, and landed next to the mailbox. They would see it when they came home.

He would rat through important files and leave them strewn about on the floor, leave the fridge door open to burn through power and spoil all the food inside.

Once, he smashed a window. Threw a football right through his parent’s window, shards of shattered glass littering the carpet. That was when he had gone too far, his parents yelling at him, making him rethink-just for a _moment_ -that maybe no attention was better than bad attention. So he stopped, stepped back for the next month, and did nothing. Infuriatingly, life returned to normal. He would go to school, come home, and his parents would either be late or still catching up on after-work work.

After a week of psyching himself back up, the cycle began again.

A cycle of broken dishes and stolen items, of muddy shoes and damaged documents. Of exhausted yelling and frustrated screaming. Of the silent treatment. Of _emotion._ And Tommy _loved_ it.

Then the holidays rolled around. His parents had gotten a week off of work, and it was perfect. They talked like a family, they ate dinner at the table. Then it ended, far too quick. They were sent back to work, and he was stuck, completely alone in his own house, a week of holidays left and no school to go to.  
  
There was a business trip they needed to attend to.

“It’ll only be for the weekend,” his mother had said. Tommy frowned. “You can always stay with nan, if you like.”

“We’ll be right back,” his father had said, had _promised_.

Only they hadn’t been.

He stayed up all Sunday night, the house cleaned and the floor vacuumed. He waited, checked his phone. Waited some more. He put on a movie. Then two. He could hear birds outside as Dawn dragged her fingers across the pale pink sky, leaving streaks of wispy white clouds. Kookaburras mocked him from the trees.

His phone chimed, and his eyes snapped open from where he’d dozed off on the couch. _When had he fallen asleep?_ A delayed text from his mother read, _sorry, kiddo, it looks like we’ll be a little bit longer than we thought. Something came up and our stay’s been extended. Call nan if you need anything. <3_

Monday rolled around, then Tuesday.

Rage bubbled underneath his skin, and the months of frustration and bitter loneliness swirled in his stomach. He felt like the world was burning, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to burn with it. He was going to be the one to _set it on fire._

He felt like he couldn’t be here anymore; each look at the now messy living room and pile of finished movies sent him spiraling back to a fit of rage. So he set their garden on fire, stretched his wings, and flew away.

He didn’t know where he would go, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be back for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> hello again!! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!! :)


End file.
